


Help (I'm Not Alive)

by LadyMurasaki



Series: Empire [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Ancestors with Dancestor names, Babies, Codes & Ciphers, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:08:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMurasaki/pseuds/LadyMurasaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious email and a child of unknown provenance, a dead cryptograph and last memento of a dying man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set three years after ["Leaving (The Past Behind)"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5837572). Heavily suggested, but not required, reading.

“Boss, uh…”

Rufioh looked up from the blueprints his ‘generals’ had spread on the table before him. They liked to call themselves his generals, but he tended to think of them as more partners, or advisors. The young man who interrupted, Peyton, a secretary of sorts, hesitated in the doorway. The spooked look on his face was enough for Rufioh to straighten up, turning his full attention on the boy. 

“I-I got an…. a email.” Peyton swallowed, “Tech is looking at it, but… you might want to take a look too.” 

So far, nothing sounded terribly worrisome, but Rufioh trusted Peyton’s apparent assessment and circled the table to take his leave. The ‘generals’ resumed pouring over their plans without him. 

~

The building that the rebellion had commandeered had once been a large apartment building. Peyton had claimed one of the apartments and repurposed it into a combined living space and office, littering the main room with mismatched filing cabinets and a desk that had been found scrounged from the neighborhood. His laptop, like many of the other computers in use by the rebellion, was outdated but functional, and currently being inspected by a trio of teenagers. 

“It’s in code!” one of them, Mihael, crowed in excitement almost as soon as Rufioh entered the room. “If we can just crack it somehow…” 

Another, Julien, was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper and frowning at the screen. “It’s completely ridiculous is what it is.” 

Rufioh circled the desk to peer over their shoulders. Just as Peyton had told him on their trip here, the email was just a jumble of letters headed up by his name in capital letters. There weren’t even any spaces or punctuation, nothing to imply a sentence structure at all. The papers spread across the desktop were already covered in letters and numbers and mathematical calculations, the majority of which were scribbled out. 

Acacia, the third teen, took possession of the laptop and started pulling up more windows, obscuring the email from sight as Rufioh stepped away. “I haven’t been able to figure out where it came from yet, the email address it came from is junk, I can’t find any record of it ever existing.” Offhandedly, she told the other two techs, “Here, I sent a couple copies to the printer for you two to scribble on.” Then back to Rufioh: “The domain name is Empire-controlled, no real surprise there. It will take a while for me to be able to get any more information than that.” 

With Mihael and Julien rushing from the room with their handfuls of scribbled notes and the freshly printed emails, Rufioh nodded at June. “You seem to have everything in hand, try to keep me informed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with.” 

“Of course.” Acacia looked back to the computer, fingers clacking over the keyboard. “I’ll set up a new address for you Peyton, not sure if we can trust this one anymore.” 

~

“Rufioh!” 

Mihael rushed through the hallways, Eridan close on his heels, and Rufioh paused and turned to meet them. Eridan had never shown much interest or ability in the technical department -- he was much more interested in history, specifically that of the rebellion -- so it was curious that he’d be following Mihael, who’d been working nonstop on decoding the email lately. 

“Rufioh, the email--” Mihael was out of breath, barely able to get the words out, but Eridan had him covered. 

“It’s a code used by the last big rebellion. The one that assassinated the Seventh Empress.” He looked near as excited as Mihael, but was much better at keeping himself composed. 

“So it’s been decoded…?”

“Yes, Come!” Mihael hadn't even finished catching his breath before he was jogging back the way he came, the other two sharing a glance before jogging behind. 

Eridan kept up a slightly awed sounding dialogue as they went. “All the major players from that rebellion were executed by the Eighth, or thrown into dungeons and slavery, it was only by chance that I even found part of the key in a journal. Mihael and Julien put the rest of it together and -- I mean, the journal was in _our_ archives, the original one, I have no idea how anyone else that would know the code could still be alive, unless-- unless--” his eyebrows knit together, face turning pink with either excitement or exertion, or maybe both, as his rambling slowed to a halt. 

The room that had been taken over by the tech department was filled with computers in every state of construction and a mish-mash of tables and desks to hold them, with cables running everywhere. Rufioh was pretty familiar with computers, but a lot of what happened in this room went way over his head, so he was left to simply trust that the technologically inclined members of his group could police themselves. 

Eridan paused in the doorway, and Rufioh patted his shoulder in passing. “Thank you for your hard work, Eridan.” 

The teenager’s lip twitched in a small grin as he scoffed, “At least someone around here appreciates what I do.” 

The techs in the room were hovering about a laptop nervously, peering at a piece of paper that one of them held. As soon as Rufioh was in range it was passed to him. Handwriting scrawled across it in large block lettering, numbers and more letters littering the available space around it. 

> BEECHSIDE\DOCK\WAREHOUSE\TWO\TUESDAY\MIDNIGHT\SAVE\HIM\DONT\TRY\TO\FIND\ME\I\WONT\SURVIVE

Rufioh read over the message a second time before looking up. 

“It could be an ambush. We still don’t know who sent it.” Eridan crossed his arms, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

“But someone could legitimately need help too.” Julien chimed in, just as uncertain. 

Rufioh looked around at the teens, then back down to the message as he considered. 

“We’ll look into it. Carefully.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Nothing in here, boss.” Crackled over the radio. 

“Just some cats out here.” Came the report from his other squad. “Hey, think we could keep one?” 

“Leave those mangy things right where they are!” Someone else snapped over the line. 

Rufioh tuned out the bickering and checked his watch. 11:35. He took a few cautious steps away from the warehouse and glanced along the street, but it remained just as abandoned as it had been ten minutes ago. 

“What do you think?” Eridan asked from his position against the wall, his rifle slung casually against a shoulder. He looked like he expected a fashion photographer to come along and snap his picture any moment now, but Rufioh knew the kid could go from zero to lethal at the first sign of a threat. He couldn’t remember being that self-confident at 17. 

He held in the call switch of his own radio, “Hold positions. Check in in ten. We’re going to wait it out.” 

Affirmative responses crackled back, and Eridan nodded. Rufioh entered the warehouse as the teen strolled across the street to take up his post. 

Inside the warehouse was shadowy, the only light that which seeped in through the front windows from the street lamps. He clicked on his flashlight and looked around. Mice scattered at his approach, and dust rose in small clouds where he stepped. He wondered how old the warehouse was, what it was used for, why it had been abandoned. Shelves lined the walls stacked with boxes and various odds and ends, but the center was mostly cleared away, save a few large wooden crates. Faint moonlight shone in through a broken skylight, and he could scarcely hear his squad settling in on the loft above. 

Choosing a wooden crate, Rufioh swiped away some of the dust and cobwebs before seating himself just outside the ray of moonlight to wait. 

11:40 lit up the face of his watch. 

~

His watch read 11:58 when Eridan’s voice whispered through the radios. “Car. Black-- No, blue. Four door. I can only see a driver.” He rattled off some more about the car and what he could make of the driver for the benefit of the squad stationed outside. In case they’d need to chase the car down. Headlights flashed through boarded up windows, and Rufioh sat up straighter, clicking off his flashlight. 

A crackle broke radio silence as someone keyed their mic, but no one spoke. 

The front door creaked at the same time as Eridan’s next rushed whisper. “Target is carrying… something.” Rufioh fumbled his radio into silence. 

From the silhouette in the doorway, Rufioh guessed that the person was a male, but he couldn’t gather much else. There was a moment of rustling before another flashlight lit up the vicinity of the entryway. 

“H-Hello? I’m… supposed to meet, uh… Rufioh?” The man sounded uncertain. “I’m unarmed. Shit, he didn’t say it’d be so dark here…”

Rufioh stood and took a few steps closer, standing just at the edge of the halo of moonlight. “Hello… And who are you? Why have you called me out here?” 

“Not me. Uh, he wouldn’t give me his name. But he told me to meet you here, that you would help the little one.” The man’s flashlight bobbed, and it looked like he shifted whatever was in his arms. 

“Who are you?” Rufioh pressed, “How did you… or, him… know about me?” 

“I’m… okay, hear me out… I’m a guard, in Hallwood Population Center. I… What they do there, it’s, it’s disgusting, I don’t… it needs to stop. But I can’t just leave, I… my wife, she’s pregnant, we can’t afford to… But I, I do what I can. For the prisoners. One of the men on my block, this kid is his, and he… I mean, _no one_ would want their kid to grow up there. He asked me to save his kid, and I’m… I’m almost a father myself, I couldn’t just, I couldn’t say _no_. And-- And here we are, I guess.” 

Rufioh thought he could hear the shuffle of the squad positioned overhead, and that gave him the courage to flick on his own flashlight and shine it at the guard, cautiously closing the distance between them. The man readily handed over the bundle, which fussed a little and reached a tiny hand out of the swaddle of fabric. 

The infant was tiny, tucked into a white sheet dotted with darker splotches that he suspected to be blood; the infant only looked a few hours old. The child made a small noise and settled back asleep with a small yawn. 

“He was… I switched him for a dead one, right on the birthing table. No one but us and a nurse know he’s alive. His mother, she… didn’t make it.” 

“Okay.” Rufioh breathed, then looked back up at the man, indicating the box he’d been sitting on before with a jerk of his head. “Have a seat, we have some more questions for you. But, if you are not lying, then thank you for this child’s life.” 

~

The guard’s name turned out to be Rafael, and he was hesitant but willing to share what information he could about the prisoner that had sent him on this task, himself, and the facility he worked at. Rufioh and Eridan took the newborn back to the rebellion’s base of operations. 

The nurses doted over the child, giving him a clean bill of health and a meal before settling him in one of the nursery cribs. Once assured that the child was fine, Rufioh left the medical crew to fuss over baby names and rejoined Eridan to await the report on Rafael’s interrogation. 

In the end Rafael was sent on his way with a way to contact someone within the rebellion and instructions to keep in touch. The squads returned to base and reported the new information to Rufioh. 

He dismissed them and sighed, looking down at the pages of scribbled notes that they’d left him. He idly flipped through them, inspecting the hand-drawn notated map that he found. A quiet knock at his doorframe brought him out of his studies. Kanaya stood patiently at the door, only stepping inside when he smiled and nodded to her. 

“Did everything go well?” She inquired, smoothing out her skirt as she took a seat at one of the chairs across from his desk. Rufioh was reminded of how polite and mature she was, way beyond her fifteen years; so much like her mother, in that respect. 

“Better than expected.” He straightened the stack of notes as best he could. “We have a potential ally at the Hallwood Population Center. Whoever sent us the email had him smuggle out a baby. We’re still not sure _who_ sent him though; Rafael was only able to give us a rough description, and the man doesn’t sound to be in good shape. A prisoner.” 

Kanaya listened intently, her hands in her lap, and at the conclusion asked, “Will there be a raid? Do you think this prisoner could be rescued?” 

“Of course. Rafael gave us what information he could, and will continue to stay in contact. It won’t be right away though, and unfortunately the probability of the prisoner surviving isn’t high, going by Rafael’s description and his own admission in the email.” 

She laced her fingers together, leaning forward and biting her lip. “Do you think… that my mother is there? Or my uncles?” 

Rufioh expected the question. They’d spent years trying to find Porrim, Kankri, Meulin, and Mituna with only the scantest of information to show for their efforts. Kankri and Mituna had been arrested at a rally, and Porrim a short while during an ill-advised rescue attempt. Witnesses claimed that she’d allowed herself to be captured to aid Meulin in escaping, but what had happened to Meulin was still unclear. Ever since, Kanaya had anxiously awaited any new information on them, clinging to the hope that one day, a raid on a dungeon or Population Center would find them alive. 

Rufioh would be overjoyed to find them himself, but after nearly four years without a trace, the prospects were getting slim. 

“We’re not sure yet, Kanaya. I’m sorry.” She visibly deflated in her seat, and he sighed, hating to see her disappointed. “... Would you like to meet the baby?” 

The teenager nodded, and stood to follow him to the medical ward. She perked up a little when the sleeping baby was placed in her arms. Rufioh stood to the side as the girl and a nurse cooed over the tiny child. 

~

The raid on Hallwood Population Center had gone abysmally -- Rafael had been found out as a traitor to the empire the day before the raid, and the rebels hadn’t been prepared for the bolstered security that greeted them at the facility. 

There’d been injuries, but no deaths or arrests at least; they’d been rebuffed before managing to rescue anyone, though. 

In the months since, Kanaya had developed a deep fondness for the infant, now dubbed Sollux. She doted over him the way she doted over Karkat and Nepeta, as if he were her own family. Rufioh often worried about the impact on Kanaya’s health, as well as the children’s, with how much of her time she devoted to mothering an infant and two eight-year-olds when she was barely older than a child herself. But Kanaya wouldn’t have it any other way, and all he could do was stand aside and encourage her to seek support when she needed it. 

When Kanaya approached him with Sollux cradled in her arms and a sort of hesitant hope in her eyes, he wasn’t sure what he expected of her, but her awed whisper wasn’t it. “He has Mituna’s eyes.” 

Rufioh wiggled his fingers to draw Sollux’s gaze, peering curiously down at the baby’s eyes; sure enough, the left eye was darkening to a chocolate brown, the right stubbornly remaining it’s baby blue tone. With the sparse mop of brown hair growing from the pale scalp, the resemblance was striking, and Rufioh gathered the girl into his arms, careful of the baby cradled between them. 

His reply was quiet, just as awed by the realization. “He really does.” 


End file.
